In the Bigger Picture
by Stacy's Mom
Summary: Effie Trinket, captured and tortured by the Capitol after the Quarter Quell, is a shell of her former self. After being brought to District 13 she finds herself locked up again, but she finds a familiar face before too long. Will he be able to help her to heal? Hayffie.
1. Chapter 1

She'd heard that the rebels were everywhere, uprisings in more than half of the districts, innocent people being killed left, right and center. It was ironic, wasn't it, that her own Capitol was responsible for her state. She almost wished the rebels would put her out of her misery, seeing as it was their fault she was locked up here.

It was ridiculous when you thought about it. That Effie Trinket, the Capitol's representative in District 12, the one person linked to the district who actually had to report to the president, associated with rebels? Utterly ridiculous. No rebel would be stupid enough to trust her with anything. Surely the Capitol should understand that.  
But they didn't. She remained in that filthy, underground cell, numbing herself so that the only thing she could feel was the pain. They weren't even doing it for information anymore. That's how it had started, but when it became clear that she knew nothing, they didn't stop. They tortured her to show that they could; to show the rebels what happened when you went against the Capitol.

Effie wasn't the only one they were holding there. She was the only one who wasn't allowed out of her cell, wasn't paraded around on TV to show the Capitol's endless mercy to its citizens. Even in her deteriorated condition, chained to the wall, her knees unable to hold her up for more than a few seconds, collapsed in a pool of her own blood and excrement for who knows how long, she'd rather be there than is Peeta's position.  
At least she could remember. At least she could recognise that this was wrong, and not for her own good.

Other than Peeta she didn't know who else was there. Anyone else would probably have been killed or made an Avox by now. Not Effie Trinket, the Capitol's lapdog who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It wasn't her fault she'd associated with District 12. If they didn't want her around rebels, they should have given her a better district.  
At the same time, she hoped the rebels, Katniss, Haymitchm Plutarch, and everyone, she hoped they won this. Maybe because it was the only chance she had. Or maybe because even she could recognise that they were right.

Effie didn't know how long she'd been there. Days blurred into weeks, months... Had she been here a year? She wondered what her friends were doing. She couldn't even tell what time it was. Were they drinking tea? Agonising over what to wear? Or were they already at the first party of the night?

She hadn't slept since the last time they were in here, poking and prodding until she screamed . . . At least, she didn't _think_ she'd slept. She wasn't sure if she was even awake now. Were her eyes open?

She blinked a few times. The dingy, grey wall opposite her swam into focus. While concentrating, she could hear voices. She strained her ears. Footsteps were ringing out from the hard, concrete stairs. The man who appeared didn't bother to cover his face, but she couldn't see him clearly anyway.

She saw him coming closer, and felt the restraints loosening, her hands limply falling to her sides. It was only when his face came closer to hers, and he shook her shoulders, his eyes boring into her vacant ones, whispering her name frantically, that she could put a name to this man.  
Plutarch Heavensbee.


	2. Chapter 2

Effie drifted in and out of consciousness for a while. She was vaguely aware of motion, of hushed voices, there was some screaming – evidently she wasn't the only one being taken. She was alert when she was pushed, by hands rougher than Plutarch's, into a bright white room. She remembered wincing as she adjusted to the light.  
She didn't know how long it had been before she came to fully. The room was bare, small, but the glistening white tiles on the walls made it appear bigger. She couldn't say, truly, the size of the room; her vision was still swimming. Effie could see a door in front of her, and another to her left.  
She gingerly moved her legs and whimpered at the accompanying pain. Movement in her arms fared no better. Looking down at herself, she registered bare, bloody feet, an irreperably stained dress and a pale, shrunken body laced with scars and bruises.

Her memory was a little better. She could remember being in the Capitol, in a chamber underneath the Training Centre, and she could remember patches of the helicopter ride. It took a strain to recall Plutarch, and anything beyond that was out of her grasp. Where was she? Plutarch was one of the rebels, she knew that, and all the rumours said . . .

They were wrong, though. There couldn't be a District 13, that was destroyed before she was even born, before the dawn of the Hunger Games . . No matter what those men had said when they were questioning her.. She held firm; there wasn't a District 13.

More than anything, Effie wanted to know what time it was. The date would help, too. How long had she been held captive? Where was she now? Where would she go when she was allowed to leave here? Would she be allowed to leave here?

The handle in the door opposite her turned, causing her to jump. A middle-aged man she didn;t recoginse entered. She searched his face for clues.

"You've woken." It wasn't a question, the man simply nodded. As she opened her mouth, he left the room and returned a moment later with a slim mattress. He placed it in the corner of the room and nodded to it.  
She opened her mouth again and tried to ask where she was, but all that came out was a choked wheeze. The man continued to look at her, didn't make any move to help her.

"Where am...I?" she managed to whisper.  
"You're in Room 623," he replied. Her unenlightened expression prompted him to continue. "In District 13. You were brought here by . ." He checked his clipboard- "Plutarch. I see."

Effie nodded, taking a while to process the information. District 13, so it was real. Part of her wasn't surprised. She continued her interrogation.

"How long . . have I been . . here?" she asked, her voice beginning to flow more naturally.

"Just over a week," was his reply.  
"How long was I . . locked up . . before?"  
The man shrugged. "Your injuries are healing themslves and you shouldn't need surgery. You may stay in here for the forseeable future."

Effie opened her mouth, then closed it. What could she say? Maybe this man believed she wanted to stay here, maybe he didn't. The truth was, she needed to be outside to see things other than four walls, but what would saying that do? They couldn't let her leave. She was nothing but a Capitol girl who had once associated with rebels. At least she was safe here.

After a few minutes of silence, the man left. Effie managed to pull herself to the mattress and collapsed on it, her energy sapped by the short motion. She shook, lying face-down on the bare mattress, unsure whether she was crying or just breaking down. She ought to be grateful, thankful, anything but despairing. But she needed more than this. At least in the Capitol, she knew it couldn't get any worse, she was entitled to feel sorry for herself. Here in 13, her self-pity only served as a reminder of what she was – a selfish Capitol bitch. She wasn't any better than Snow. How many children had she sent to death? It was all well and good to tell people how she'd always felt bad about it and secretly hated it, but she couldn't fool herself. She'd loved the Hunger Games. It was as much a festivity to her as it was to anyone in the Capitol, despite her involvement, despite that she'd seen the impact it had on peoples' lives, despite the fact that the only three victors she really knew, those that people revered as celebrities, had never truly left the arena. Maybe she regretted her hand in it now, but she was sure that was for purely selfish reasons.

Sometime during her minor breakdown, Effie must have fallen asleep because she felt herself waking up some time later. She couldn't say how long she'd been asleep, but she could see a tray of food inside the door that she guessed led to the hall. She managed to sit up, noticing that her muscles, while stiff and tense, were considerably more pliable than they had been on her previous attempt to move. The rest had done her good.  
She slowly made her way to the tray, her nose wrinkling at the smell of the food. She had no appetite. She forced herself to eat a few bites of the tough, grainy bread and washed it down with half of the reconstituted soup. She made her way to the second door in the room, hoping it was a bathroom. Upon discovering that it was, she crawled desperately to the toilet and retched. After a few minutes it became clear that nothing was coming up and she flopped back, grateful. At least she could keep the food down. With great effort she made her way back to her mattress and collapsed again.

Her days continued much like this for a while. If she was sleeping properly, then it was over a week before she saw another person. Meals were left on a tray inside her door while she was sleeping, and they usually remained lukewarm by the time she ate them. She slowly regained her appetite.

A few days after she regained full capacity to move and think, she heard commotion from outside her room. The door to the hall was always locked; she didn't bother trying it anymore. From what she could hear, it sounded like people were reuniting or splitting up, there were cries and exclamations, and low voices spoken in hushed tones.

It hit her suddenly that one of the voices belonged to Katniss, and that evidently, she hadn't known these people were there. Her prep team, it had to be. She began to recognise their high pitched voices and jubilance. Chances were, Katniss didn't know that Effie was here either.

Without thinking, she launched herself at the door, hitting it and screaming. She didn't know why. She wasn't going to be let out, she would probably be punished, Nevertheless she continued to scream and pound the door until her throat was raw.

Low voices once again became audible from outside the door. They became louder, until finally the door was thrown open and Effie tumbled into the arms of a bewildered Haymitch Abernathy.


	3. Chapter 3

She could only imagine what she looked like to him at the moment. There was no trace of the Effie Trinket he knew left, she was gone. There was no shower in her little bathroom, so she'd had to make do with the sink but she couldn't do much without soap. At the time she didn['t care how she looked; she only shut her eyes tight and curled up, waiting to be punished.  
After few minutes, when the blow still hadn't come, she looked upwards. Haymitch was staring at her.

"Effie?" he asked incredulously. She flinched, unused to hearing another voice, especially so close to her. She slowly nodded.  
Suddenly Haymitch stood up, still holding her. She realised she was shaking.  
Then he started shouting.

His words were unintelligible, but the people at the other end of the hall seemed eager to assuage his anger. Peeking from behind her arm, she saw Plutarch, Katniss and the prep team, all staring at her. Katniss was glaring at Plutarch, to whom Haymitch's tirade also seemed to be directed.

"Now, Haymitch, calm down, I didn't know what they'd do with her, did I?" Plutarch was waving his hands in front of his face, his tone almost jovial. Haymitch's anger began to increase, and Effie noticed that a vein was throbbing in his neck.

"You can take her! Take her, I can authorise it, it's fine!" It was becoming evident that Plutarch didn't want to experience Haymitch's anger.

As they continued their heated exchange, Effie curled up and drowned it out. She was perplexed. Why did it bother Haymitch so much? It wasn't the goodness of his heart. He never did anything out of the goodness of his heart. And he'd always felt comtempt towards her, he was clear about that.

It took her a few seconds to realise that they'd gone quiet and were staring at her. She let out a small whimper.  
"I'm taking her, Plutarch, and you can tell your superiors whatever you fucking want," Haymitch said, and he turned and strode down the hall. Effie kept her eyes shut tight. She could feel herself being carried, but she couldn't tell where. He stopped for a while, and she allowed herself to open her eyes.  
They were in an elevator set to go to the third floor. They were alone, in fact; Effie hadn't heard anyone else since they'd left Plutarch and the others. She was relieved. She couldn't imagine the people here being overly hospitable.

Soon enough they were walking again. This time Effie kept her eyes open. She noticed once again the lack of people, and also, the bland sameness of the corridor. The doors were spaced evenly along both walls, the very same as the corridor she'd been kept in before. Haymitch stoppoed outside the door labelled 388. He opened the door and stepped in.  
The room had the same layout as 623, but was slightly better furnished. There was a bed against the far wall with covers, a small cabinet next to it, and she was willing to bet there was a shower in the bathroom, as well. Haymitch put her down and she risked taking a peek up at his face. His expression was unreadable, so she returned her gaze to her feet.  
"You can . . stay here, for now. It's late, you can sleep. Do you have any clothes with you?" he asked gruffly. Effie shook her head. "Wait here."  
She made her way to the bed after he left, her head spinning. Was she going to live like the rest of the people here in 13? How could she?

She wasn't left to her own thoughts for long. Haymitch returned with a familiar red bag.  
"Plutarch said this was near your room in the Capitol. Says he doesn't know if it's yours." He tossed it on the bed.  
"Haymitch."  
"Yeah?"  
"Thanks." Still she refused to look at him, though she could feel his eyes on her.

"You're . . Well you didn't deserve to be locked up like that. What did they do to you?"

"Nothing!" she replied quickly, her eyes finally snapping up to look at him. Her blood-soaked dress said otherwise. "This . . It wasn't them."  
Haymitch nodded, like he finally understood. "You can get your schedule there in the morning," he said, pointing to a contraption set into the wall. "I'll get you up for breakfast. You'll need clothes from 13, there's some in the bag." That explained the grey overalls everyone was wearing.  
"Thanks," she repeated, her mouth on autopilot. He nodded and left Effie to her thoughts. She found she was too fatigued to do much thinking, though. A quick search of the bag revealed that it was indeed hers. The only appropriate sleepwear in there was a lacy nightdress. She decided to wear it because it was pretty; she didn't get to see too many pretty things anymore and it was a novelty.  
She peeled off the bloodstained dress and threw it into the corner, hoping she'd be able to forget it was there. It was clear that she couldn't put on the nightdress; her body was encrusted with dirt and blood. She made her way to the shower.

The water was barely lukewarm, but Effie didn't mind – it helped to clear her head. There was a small bar of soap in a dish nearby, which got the dirt off and hopefully the tangles out of her hair. The towels were stiff and no sooner had she started rubbing herself down than she was wincing in pain. It was no use; she couldn't do anything to her broken skin with those rough towels without ripping open more wounds. She did her best to dry her hair, and left it at that.

She closed her eyes and sighed happily at the feeling of the silk nightdress against her skin. It soothed the sensitive skin and soon she was warming up. She hadn't even noticed the goosebumps across her pale skin.

She was too tired to do much else, so she lowered herself into the bed, still damp. She was going through the motions to stop herself from thinking, but now that she was settling down for the night, she had no choice but to face her thoughts.  
Clearly her position had improved from the day before. She had freedom, and she had sanitation, and most of all, she had a familiar face. Effie wasn't aware how much she'd longed for company until she'd spoken to Haymitch.

Haymitch was another matter on her mind. He wasn't going to rest until he found out what happened to her, apparently. When had he gotten such an active conscience? She had to remind herself that, no matter how nice it was to have a familiar face, he's not on your side, and he's only concerned because he doesn't want people to suffer. Maybe he was sober. That could explain it.  
Shutting her eyes tight, she forbade herself to think of Haymitch Abernathy. She would see him tomorrow, and maybe then he'd reveal the reasons behind his concern. The only thing she could do now was to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Effie awoke the next morning before Haymitch came to get her. Groggy at first, it took her a minute or so to take in her surroundings, but she soon remembered the previous day.

Her hair had dried while she was asleep, she noticed, though it was parted wrong and her curls were still just fuzz. She didn't have a hairbrush so she attempted to comb it with her fingers.

The clock on the otherwise bare wall told her that it was half past seven. Haymitch should be here around eight, she thought. She began to dress into the overalls. The label said they were for children, but they hung loosely on Effie's frame and she was only just tall enough for her. There would be no high heels here, she thought grimly. No, a pair of old kids' shoes had been kindly placed in her bag for her convenience.

Taking them out, she searched for socks. The only ones she could find were a pair of her own, a snow-white, fluffy pair. Like the nightdress, they were more to give herself just one beautiful thing in this place, just one, that she could look at throughout the day, than anything else.  
She wasn't surprised that the shoes fit her easily. In fact, they were a little too big, but the socks padded them from the inside. No sooner was she dressed and ready than there was a knock on her door.  
"Come in," she called, trying to sound perky. Things were looking up for her, she knew that, and she might as well show a bit of gratitude.

Haymitch entered the room and looked her up and down, giving a grunt of approval before his eyes reaches her feet. He looked at them for a moment, then knelt before her and produced a penknife from a pocket.  
Effie gasped and took a step back, falling onto the bed. Before a coherent thought could form in her head, Haymitch had grabbed her ankle.  
She screamed weakly, but was silenced by a stare from Haymitch, neither angry nor accusing, but enough to shut her up.  
"I'm on your side, sweetheart," he reminded her coldly, and proceeded to cut the hem of the shapeless grey trousers on both legs so they trailed the ground and covered her socks.  
Effie opened her mouth to thank him, but thought better of it. Since when was Haymitch a man who needed thanks for what he did? She knew better than to underestimate that man, and knew that he was capable of understanding her silent thanks.

She stayed silent during their short walk to the cafeteria; they both did. Effie was dreading what was coming next, hundreds of eyes on her, knowing how much they all hated her and she could do nothing, ever, to assuage their hatred. She swallowed in apprehension and barely resisted the urge to cling to Haymitch's arm like a child.  
As it turned out, it wasn't as bad as she expected. The reality was, without her wig and make up, most of the residents of 13 didn't recognise Effie Trinket. She almost laughed with relief. No one knew everyone in the place, they would just assume she was someone they hadn't met before. No one ever had to know who she was.

This gave Effie a pang of guilt. How could it be so easy for someone to give up their whole identity, just for the sake of not being hated? It's not like she didn't like who she was; she'd worked hard to become that person, but around these people, almost all of whom had lost family members to a monster she'd been such an active part of, she felt no pride. If she had to work to be a certain person, then who knew who she really was? She wasn't sure she knew herself, and that made her feel awful.

Haymitch led her to a table at the far end of the room, occupied easily by twenty people, most of whom were new faces to her. She sat next to Haymitch, her eyes darting up from her lap every now and again. More and more faces became familiar to her, and it struck her how many were past victors. Haymitch, Katniss, Finnick, Annie, Johanna and more sat at the table, none of them paying the slightest bit of notice to her.

The meal was different to the ones she was used to by now, and substantially smaller. She supposed that was because there were more to be given throughout the day. She pushed the dry toast around her plate, her appetite having disappeared again. She felt a pair of eyes boring into her and tried to hide under her hair, but couldn't resist looking up once.

Haymitch pushed her plate firmly towards her as she shook her head. His gaze remained insistent until he suddenly pushed his chair back and left the table. Effie didn't know whether to feel relieved or scared. Where did she go from here? Maybe he would come back if she ate.

Swallowing her discomfort and the urge to retch, she picked up the toast, aware that more than one pair of eyes at the table were on her. Just as she was about to take a bite, Haymitch returned and sat down, dropping a set of plastic cutlery next to her.  
"Have some manners," he said, and swallowed a gulp from a flask.

She dropped the toast onto her plate and bit down on her tongue to keep from laughing. Given her circumstances, Effie couldn't afford to be picky and she certainly wasn't going to refuse food because she had to eat it with her hands. Even so, how could Haymitch know that? He didn't know if she'd changed from the Capitol's lapdog Effie that he'd known before, or if she'd stayed the same prim, stoic woman.

She picked up the cutlery and cut the toast into small pieces. She felt a little less uncomfortable and was willing to eat, if only for Haymitch's sake. His words echoed in her head as she slowly ate. _I'm on your side. _She had no reason to believe otherwise, he'd done nothing to her but acts of kindness.

After finishing the brief meal, she followed Haymitch from the room, not before noticing the looks she was being given from Katniss. She wouldn't be surprised if the girl saw through her, she'd always been perceptive.

"Did you get your schedule like I told you?" asked Haymitch, his rough voice causing her to jolt. They were already outside her room, and he was looking down at her, waiting for an answer. She shook her head, and he lead her in by the arm. "Put your hand in there."  
Effie did as he said, and she felt an odd sensation on her outer wrist. After the instruction to remove her hand, she looked and saw a small list on her hand, telling her where to go.  
"I have to go for a meeting now, where are you?" asked Haymitch.  
"I, um, have to work. Where do I go?" she replied nervously.  
"Kitchen. You're preparing lunch, you know where to go, right?"  
She nodded, and he turned to leave the room.  
"Haymitch!" He turned back to look at her. "Haymitch . . thanks." He nodded. "And, ah, Haymitch?" She didn't wait for a reply. "Why are you . . helping me?"  
"Someone had to do the surveillance, sweetheart."


	5. Chapter 5

Effie stared at him for a minute or so, unsure if she'd heard him right. She's been freed – Haymitch himself had freed her. She'd seen his outrage at her condition, been there for the dispute between him and Plutarch. It couldn't be true. She wasn't under surveillance, she couldn't believe it.  
But yet . . . "Surveillance?" she choked out, forcing herself to look at Haymitch, who seemed almost angry. "I'm still . . under surveillance?"  
He nodded. "You can't expect them to trust you right away, you have to–"

"_No._ I don't _have to_ do anything, Haymitch. For God's sake, they saw how I was being held in the Capitol, they were treating me worse than I was here! You expect me to come in here with bugs under my skin just to report back? Like either side would ever trust me!" Effie was almost in tears. "I can't take this, I'm not a menace, I'm not a threat! All I've done was to be caught in the middle of this stupid war!" The tears began to fall, which made Haymitch angrier.

"I'm not happy about the situation either, princess. You're obviously innocent, look at you. You were right when you said that neither side would trust you. But as long as there's that tiny seed of doubt, you'll be under surveillance. It's your position, they're not too warm to perky escorts here." He was slowly coming closer to her with each word, until their toes were almost touching.

Effie's thoughts became incoherent as she fell against the door, sobbing. There was no logical argument she could make; he was obviously right. After all her noble thoughts about changing herself and becoming a new person, she was still just an escort; and stripped of that, she was nothing. She felt her legs go weak and strained to keep them up, but didn't register the relief in her muscles when she finally sunk down to the floor, sobbing into her knees.

This wasn't going to end, she understood that much. She would never be allowed to go home, never be let out of their sight. She would remain here in 13 for as long as it took them to believe she was innocent, and evidently they never would. Her life stretched out in front of her, a kitchen assistant in a strict underground District, never being allowed a possession to call her own. She was disgusted to realise that she'd rather have died from the torture.  
Familiar faces didn't matter. All they would do was make her prison bigger and give her false ideas about freedom. _I'm on your side. _She could have laughed. She was the bigger fool for believing it. This was her life now, serving in an overpopulated rabbit hole where most people didn't know her and those who did would never trust her.  
Her sobs turned to wails as these things became apparent. She had no idea how long she stayed curled up in herself bemoaning the remains of her life, but when she finally looked up, Haymitch was still there. He stood there as she shook, then finally bent down and put his arms around her.  
Effie stiffened at his touch, her eyes becoming wider. Was Haymitch hugging her? Slowly she began to put her arms around his back when she felt herself being lifted up from her crouch.

Blush spread across her face. What was she thinking? Of course he was just carrying her, what else could he be doing? Haymitch wouldn't hug her, it was unthinkable. Yet, for that split second, it seemed as if he was going to . . But that was wishful thinking. Not even, because Effie didn't want Haymitch to hug her.  
He carried her into her room and set her down on the bed as she tried to hide her embarrassment. She settled for letting strands of her hair fall over her face – maybe he'd think she was trying to hide her tears. She couldn't hide for long, though, because he pushed the hair away and bent down to her level.

"I offered to do it," he told her. For a moment she was confused with all the despairing thoughts in her head; which one was he referring to? Her surveillance, of course, she told herself. Before she could ask him why, he continued. "It's a crueller place than you'd think. I offered to do it because you don't deserve someone pushing you around with a gun. Better to have someone to talk to."

At such close quarters, she could smell the liquor on him, but somehow she could tell he wasn't drunk. Maybe it was in the sincerity in his words, the rationality of his actions . . whatever it was, Haymitch wasn't drunk.

And once again, she knew that he was right. She didn't think she's ever understand why he wanted to do this for her, but she couldn't argue.

Haymitch took her silence to mean she wanted to be alone, and stood up to go. She wanted to stop him; out of gratitude, she told herself, but couldn't bring herself to do it. He closed the door behind him and she couldn't even hear his footsteps, she knew he wouldn't be able to hear her. Even so, she whispered the words she knew were true; for whatever reason, they were entirely the truth, and they needed to be said, though her broken, ragged voice couldn't do then justice.  
"I'm glad it was you . ."


End file.
